


In Plain Sight

by vacantstars



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: 5+1 Things, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Purple Hawke is the best gift in the game honestly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-12
Updated: 2016-07-12
Packaged: 2018-07-23 02:07:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7462515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vacantstars/pseuds/vacantstars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Thank you for the gift,” he hears himself saying. “Perhaps one day I’ll return one as meaningful.”</i>
</p><p>The five times Hawke gets Anders gifts, and the one time Anders gives him one instead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Plain Sight

**_i. a bunch of…weeds? (act 1)_ **

It’s getting late, and the last few patients have cleared out of his clinic for the night. Anders is just thinking of retiring for the evening to spend some time on his manifesto when Hawke strolls in and unceremoniously dumps an armful of plants onto his makeshift desk.

“Happy Satinalia,” he says, grinning.

A million questions immediately pop into Anders’ mind, and he feels himself staring at the other mage out of sheer bewilderment. What is Hawke doing here at this hour? Why is he bringing him weeds? And where had he gotten an entire forest’s worth of plants?

All of that comes out as, “It’s not Satinalia.”

“It isn’t? I must need a better calendar.” Hawke shrugs. “Happy Tuesday, then. It is still Tuesday, isn’t it? If not, happy Wednesday.” 

“I…thank you, Hawke. That’s…really great.” Anders finds himself smiling nonetheless, because Hawke is just so _ridiculous,_ and makes his way over to the mountain of greenery on his desk. Upon closer inspection, the man hadn’t just brought him a bunch of random, half-dead weeds; there’s definitely elfroot in there, as well as a few others that he knows have medicinal properties. “Where did you get all of this?”

“Sundermount,” Hawke says. “I was up there anyway— long story, but I figured you’d be able get some use out of these.”

“These are just what I needed, actually.” His own supply had been running low, but donations were down and he didn’t exactly have the time to spend several days outside the city looking for herbs. “Thank you, Hawke. Really. This is a great help.”

“It’s the least I could do for you. And the refugees,” Hawke makes a vague motion towards the clinic’s door (or hole in the wall, rather). “You’re always helping me and you never ask for anything in return. There has to be a better way to thank you than a bunch of plants I dragged through half of Kirkwall, but it’s the best I could come up with. I can practically hear Bethany lecturing me about proper thank you gift etiquette.”

Anders can see Hawke’s expression change from amusement to thinly-veiled sadness at the mention of his late sister, so he decides to try and lighten the mood. “Believe me, these will do a world of good. Where did you learn to spot medicinal herbs?”

“My father. Whenever one of us was sick back in Lothering, we did most of the healing ourselves. The village doctor was a last resort. With three apostates under one roof, things were always kind of… _tense_ when it came to outsiders. My father did most of the actual potion-making, but he showed me and the twins how to spot the herbs we needed. He probably lectured us about their uses, too, but for the life of me, I couldn’t tell you what they are. All I know is that _this—”_ Hawke picks up a long, leafy plant from the pile— “—is elfroot, and it tastes worse than the ale at the Hanged Man does.”

Anders can’t help but chuckle and shake his head at that. “I don’t even think the stuff at the Hanged Man qualifies as being fit for human consumption.”

“Probably not,” Hawke agrees, “but is it terrible that I’ve gotten used to it?”

“Terrible for your taste in alcohol, yes.”

There’s something that just feels _right_ about standing there and chatting amiably with Hawke in his clinic in the middle of the night. He never thought that he’d consider the man who strolled in several months ago looking for a Grey Warden with maps to be a friend, but here he is. Hawke listens, and he understands _—_ the cause, Karl, and even the situation with Justice. Most people’s reaction to a spirit possession wouldn’t have been to flirt (or at least what Anders thought [hoped?] was flirting), but if he’d learned anything about Garrett Hawke, it’s that he certainly isn’t like most people.

“True. And I’m nothing if not a man of standards,” Hawke jokes. “Speaking of standards, it’s rather late, isn’t it? Wouldn’t want to keep Mother up any longer.”

“Of course.” Anders nods. “I…thank you again, Hawke.”

“No, thank _you,”_ he says. “Just remember this next time we’re elbow-deep in bandits on the Wounded Coast.”

“Oh, I can’t wait,” Anders deadpans.

Hawke laughs as he walks out, and it does nothing for that stupid, fluttery feeling that had recently taken residence in his chest and only seems to resurface whenever that man is around. Anders looks at the pile of plants on his desk and bites his lip again. Maker, he’s in over is head.

* * *

**_ii. the tevinter chantry amulet (act 2)_ **

He spends a good moment or two looking over the Tevinter chantry amulet that Hawke had just given him while the other man watches. He has no idea where he’d come across something like it, and something tells him that he didn’t want to know— but the fact that Hawke had even thought to give it to him as a gift (with the reason being that it’s “shiny and subversive”) makes him feel happier than…well, than he had been in a while. 

It’s the most he can selfishly allow himself to have, anyway; even if Hawke _is_ interested in him, it won’t work. Anders knows that he is too selfish, too devoted to the mages’ plight, and too _doomed_ by his magic and tainted blood to ever give Hawke the life and happiness that he deserves. Justice considers his infatuation with the man to be a distraction, and Anders considers it another sign that he must be some sort of glutton for punishment. He’d done nearly three years’ worth of aching for those warm brown eyes, after all.

But he can have his moment alone with Hawke and whatever it is they have and pretend, if only for a few moments.

“Thank you for the gift,” he hears himself saying. “Perhaps one day I’ll return one as meaningful.”

Hawke’s smile is just another reminder of what can’t be.

* * *

**_iii. the red favor (act 2)_ **

“Wait, before we go,” Hawke says, “there’s something I want to give you before I forget.”

“It isn’t another sacrilegious amulet, is it?” Anders teases, his hands still resting on Hawke’s hips. 

Despite Justice’s disapproval of…well, just about everything that had happened in the past day, there’s a lightness in Anders’ heart that he never thought he’d feel again; not after watching Karl crumple lifelessly to the Chantry floor, anyway. He can hardly believe it. One moment he was doing a rather poor job of confessing his feelings to Hawke, then they were kissing with all the passion of two individuals who’d held back for entirely too long, and finally (perhaps most implausibly), Hawke agreed to let him live at the estate after spending the night together.

He _definitely_ hasn’t done anything to warrant this, and it’s so, so selfish— but he is still human, and Maker help him, he’s in love with a man who’d responded to his confession about being possessed with a statement about his “sexy tortured look.”

“No, nothing that will get you hanged this time, I promise.” Hawke presses a quick kiss to Anders’ cheek as though he just can’t help himself (not that Anders is complaining in the slightest) before going over to the small chest he keeps by the door and looks for something.

Anders watches him, still half-convinced that this whole thing is just a very elaborate illusion created by some demon to keep him placated. There’s a voice in the back of his mind that keeps reminding him of all the reasons this is a bad idea: Circle mages don’t fall in love, Hawke doesn’t deserve to be tied down to an apostate with no future, this will only end in heartbreak, a million other things—but when has he ever listened to his own advice?

Hawke finally finds whatever it is he’s looking for and turns around, holding it out for Anders to see. “Here.”

“A…red ribbon?” He asks. “It’s a little big for my hair, I think.”

“Not for your hair— I mean, it could be, if you want to, I suppose?” Hawke runs a hand through his own messy black hair, almost sheepishly. “It’s a favor. It’s an Amell tradition, as far as I can tell. My mother gave one to my father, and I hope Gamlen never gave one to anyone. Anyway…since you’re moving in and all, now’s as good a time as any to give it to you. I think.”

Anders blinks once, then twice. He knows full well what a favor is, and what it implies. Nobles only hand them out to their beloved; their one and only. While the idea that Hawke actually loves him back is enough to make his head spin, he knows he can’t accept this.

He must’ve been staring at it for quite some time, because he hears Hawke say, “Er, Anders? Are you alright? My arm’s started to get tired.”

“Oh, right. I…sorry.” Anders shakes his head. “Hawke, I can’t…”

Hurt flashes across Hawke’s face, and Anders bites his lip in guilt before continuing. “It’s not that…Maker, Hawke, you know how I feel about you. There’s nothing I want more than to wear that. But…if I get caught by the templars and there’s anything that could link me back to you…”

“It’s just a red ribbon,” Hawke says gently, taking Anders’ hand in his and rubbing small circles on the back of it with his thumb. “And you know I’d never let you get caught, anyway. I’d fight the entire bloody Order to keep you safe.”

Anders looks down at their joined hands. “The Amells were— _are_ a prominent family here. The crest is in the Keep, isn’t it? Someone’s bound to know what this means.”

“I…oh.” Hawke stops his ministrations for a moment. “I’m not very good at this whole _‘noble’_ thing, am I?”

“No,” Anders agrees, letting out a breathless chuckle and letting his head drop onto Hawke’s shoulder. “But that’s fine.”

“Will you at least keep it?” Hawke asks. “You don’t have to wear it.”

“I’ll hold onto it,” Anders says softly, finally taking the ribbon from Hawke and leaning up for a kiss.

The favor ends up with the few possessions he actually owns, and eventually makes its way back to the Hawke estate when Anders finally finishes completely moving in several months later. He ties it around his old staff on the day he formally retires it from active combat (because it’s on its last legs and he’d finally caved and gotten a new one). Seeing Freedom’s Call leaning against the wall in his and Hawke’s bedroom with the red favor tied around it seems right, somehow.

* * *

**_iv. the key (act 3)_ **

Unlike the favor, he actually does keep the key to the cellars of the Hawke estate on him. Everyone knows about their relationship now thanks to Hawke’s status as Champion, so there’s no sense in trying to hide it. Anders is still uncomfortable in the spotlight, which Hawke had apologized to him for several times for, but he supposes that he _did_ ask Hawke if he’d tell the whole world that he loves an apostate.

Sometimes, he looks at the key just to keep himself grounded. No matter how bad things got in Kirkwall or with the Mage Underground, he knew that Hawke would still be there, loving and waiting for him. In many ways, Hawke is one of the few constants in his life, and he loves the man more than he can say. But there are things that matter more than his life.

Anders knows that there’s a war coming. He can see it over the horizon and feel it as he holds the key so tightly that his knuckles go white and the cold metal cuts into his hand. No one will listen, nothing’s changing, and if he doesn't act soon, there will be no cause left to fight for. It’s slipping further and further every day as more mages are murdered, tortured, and made Tranquil by Meredith and the templars.

Hawke is supportive of him and their cause and always has been— even to the point where Justice is beginning to relent on his initial disapproval of him and their relationship— but that isn’t enough. Hawke might be a mage who helps his fellow apostates and escaped Circle mages whenever he can, but he can’t save every mage in Kirkwall by himself. He can’t dismantle a system built on centuries of oppression, as much as he might want to. _Something_ needs to happen, and that something needs to be seen around the world— even if Anders won’t live to see it.

But he can’t drag Hawke down with him. If he needs to be the spark to set of the revolution himself, then so be it. He's prepared to make that sacrifice. But Hawke can’t take that fall with him, even if it means shutting out the brightest light in his life.

_I’m sorry, my love,_ he thinks, closing his eyes and putting the key back in the pouch on his belt. _I’m so sorry._

* * *

**_v. drakestone (act 3)_ **

“I have something for you,” Hawke says, walking into the clinic one evening and pushing something that feels like a stone into Anders’ hand.

“What…” Anders looks at whatever it is Hawke handed him, trying to figure out exactly what it is. It certainly feels warm, but it isn’t like any enchantment he’d ever seen. It’s too small, for one, and it seems almost organic. “What is this?”

“Drake…something.” Hawke shrugs. “That’s what you wanted, right? Something to do with drakes?”

“Drake _stone_ , love,” Anders says, trying to push back the guilt about having lied to Hawke about the potion in the first place. “I said drake _stone._ This is why I want to be there when you go to get it.”

_“Oh.”_ Hawke looks somewhat crestfallen. “That explains a lot, actually.”

“Where did you find this?”

“I took it from a high dragon’s—”

“You _what?!_ ” Anders’ hands immediately start glowing with healing magic as he checks Hawke for any injuries. Given how loudly he’d all but shouted, he wouldn’t have been surprised if Aveline heard him up in her office in the Keep. He knows that Hawke’s decision making skills are often questionable at best, but _this_ is a whole new level. “You—”

“Anders, please, calm down.” Hawke catches his hands. “I’m fine. Can’t say the same about the dragon, though.”

“You fought a high dragon,” Anders manages, trying to stop the panic rising up in his chest. _Maker,_ he could’ve…Hawke could’ve…

“Killed her, actually,” Hawke corrects. “A shame, really.”

“Why—”

“Because she was breathing fire at me.”

“Hawke, please!” Anders cries, exasperated, and pulls his hands free. “What were you doing fighting a high dragon?! Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?!”

“All things considered, yes, I do,” Hawke says. “And I knew you wanted something to do with drakes out in the Bone Pit, so I went and took care of their high dragon problem. I mean, it’s just as well, because apparently she was killing miners—”

“You did this for me,” Anders interrupts, his voice quiet and expression unreadable.

“Yes? I wanted to surprise you, but maybe it’s better if you come with me to get the drakestone.”

Anders stares at him for a long moment. Hawke had apparently _killed a high dragon_ and brought him this… _whatever it is_ simply because he thought that was what he wanted. It was so reckless, so stupid, so selfless, so…so _Hawke_ that he isn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. And knowing that this whole incident was based on a lie and would end with him breaking Hawke’s heart…

( _“You want to free the mages. Let's say you do, but to get there, you kill a bunch of innocent people. What about them? Don't they then deserve justice?”_

_“Yes.”_ )

“Anders?” Hawke says, concern evident in his tone, and Anders is pulled from his thoughts. “Are you alright?”

“Yes.” Anders swallows thickly. “I’m fine, but Andraste’s flaming knickers, Hawke… _never_ do that again.”

“Well, the good news is that I’m all out of high dragons to piss off.” Hawke grins and loops an arm around Anders’ waist, pulling him close. “What do you say we go find some actual drakestone? Maybe that herbalist who likes me so much can find something to do with the thing I brought back.”

“To the Bone Pit, then.”

He lets himself lean into Hawke’s embrace, taking comfort in his lover while he still has the chance. _I’m sorry. I never deserved you. I’m so, so sorry._

* * *

**_\+ i. what he always had (epilogue)_ **

Anders can’t sleep.

That in itself is nothing new, given the taint in his blood and the host of other things there were to have nightmares about. He’d come to terms with it a long time ago, but this is a different kind of insomnia. There’s so much blood on his hands, Kirkwall is probably still burning, and yet Hawke is asleep in bed next to him with one arm tossed over his chest. He’d offered up his neck for execution, but he’s somehow still here and breathing, even after everything he’d done.

( _“Help me defend the mages.”_

_“You mean…stay with you?”_ )

He hasn’t bothered keeping track of the time since they left Kirkwall, but given that he’d overheard Isabela mention that they aren’t far from Denerim earlier, a few days must’ve passed. Anders had no plans, because he’d never meant to make it this far— but Hawke had reassured him that he meant what he said about them being fugitives together, which made him feel _something._ Guilt, gratitude, relief, love— perhaps all of them.

The familiar feeling of Hawke next to him is overwhelming right now, so he moves to get up, only to be held down by a muscular, tired arm.

“No,” Hawke mumbles.

Anders pushes at him, but there’s no force behind it. “Hawke…”

“‘M comfortable. And you need to _sleep._ ”

“I’m sorry.” He’s been saying that a lot lately.

“Don’t be sorry.” Hawke opens his eyes and pulls Anders on top of him. “Just stay with me.”

He doesn’t move and keeps laying on Hawke’s chest, but opts to look at the wall. It’s easier that way. “Do you mean in general, or right now?” 

“Both.” 

“I’ve brought so much ugliness into your life,” Anders says, his tone carefully even. “I lied to you, Hawke. I lied to you and I blew up the Chantry—”

“We’ve had this conversation already,” Hawke interrupts, but his tone is more gentle than angry or impatient. “Maker’s breath, Anders, you think I didn’t know you were lying? You have many talents, but acting isn’t one of them. I knew there was never any potion. I thought that if you couldn’t even tell _me_ the truth about it, it must’ve been important. I just wish you could’ve been honest with me from the start.”

“You knew,” Anders says slowly, letting that revelation sink in for a moment before finally meeting Hawke’s gaze and speaking again. “And you didn’t say anything.”

“Of course I knew. I’m not _that_ dense. Granted, I didn’t know _exactly_ what it was what you were planning, but I had my suspicions.” Hawke shrugs, absentmindedly rubbing circles on the small of Anders’ back. “I didn’t ask because you didn’t want to tell me.”

The lay in silence for some time, with the only noises Anders can hear being the sounds of the waves against the old wood of the ship and Hawke’s breathing. He knew the whole time. Hawke had known that the potion was a lie, and he’d still gone and him helped anyway. Maker, he _fought a high dragon_ for him even though he had no idea what the drakestone was actually for. He’d only known that Anders needed it, and that was enough.

He isn’t quite sure what his face is doing, but Hawke brings his hands up to cup it. “Listen to me, Anders. If we’re going to be fugitives on the run together, there can’t be any more secrets between us like that. No more running off and trying to martyr yourself and keeping me in the dark out of some misguided attempt to protect me.”

This wasn’t part of the plan. He was supposed to die days ago back in Kirkwall in the ashes of the chantry he’d destroyed, but Hawke had tossed the executioner’s knife away and gave him his hand instead. Even after all was said and done, Hawke is still here. Hawke still wants to be with him, even if it means throwing away any chance at normalcy he might’ve had for a life on the run with the most wanted man in Thedas.

“I…never again, Garrett,” Anders finally manages, tears rolling down his cheeks before he could try to stop them. “I promise.”

“Good.” Hawke smiles for the first time since Kirkwall, and it is radiant. “Because we have work to do, don’t we? Lots of Circles still need some good old-fashioned revolution.”

When they kiss, Anders hopes that it can convey what he can’t in words. There are so many things that he wants to say to Hawke, but he can’t find the voice for any of them. They’ll talk about a lot of things in time, he’s sure; Kirkwall is still raw, but there’s nothing between them now. No more appearances to maintain, no more secrets, and one day, there would be no templars to tear them apart.

( _“Would you tell the whole world, the Knight-Commander…”_ )

Hawke might’ve given him his life back, but Anders knows that the man still has— and always will have— his heart.

**Author's Note:**

> This entire thing is based on the fact that I actually did go and fight the high dragon because I didn't realize that Mine Massacre and Justice were two separate quests in the Bone Pit. Whoops.
> 
> This was also supposed to be a lot less angsty, but then I decided to try writing from Anders' point of view, and, well, that idea went out the window (but hopefully the ending made up for it?). 
> 
> All I'm saying is that if DA2 ever gets remastered, Bioware owes us an romance armor upgrade for Anders.


End file.
